


Down and Out

by neversaydie



Series: Kink Falls AM [4]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Closeted Character, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Painplay, Pre-Canon, Subdrop, Under-negotiated Kink, figuring their shit out, grey-ace sammy, shotgun days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 12:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14378748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: He wakes up cold, totally disoriented and with no idea what the fuck is happening.Pain registers first, the bad kind of hurting that feels more like he's been on the losing end of a particularly bad bar fight than had a loving encounter with his boyfriend. The lamp is still on, and Sammy blinks in the dim light like it's blinding as he raises his head and tries to figure out what's going on.The first time Sammy experiences sub drop, Jack doesn't notice until far too late.[in which Sammy and Jack have a bad night, and figure out how to fix it.]





	Down and Out

The first time Sammy experiences sub drop, Jack doesn't notice until far too late.

The move to Los Angeles has been stressful, but Seattle is a small pond in comparison and Shotgun became a big fish quicker than they could have anticipated. Their new home has the show already syndicated across the coast and on digital, and the house they've been able to afford with the pay rises and new sponsorship deals is beyond anything they could have dreamt of when they were crammed into the closet studio back in college, rambling about campus gossip.

All this, plus the fact they're closer to Jack's family and Lily is starting to talk to them again (grudgingly), means that the move is welcome despite the stress. Jack is definitely in a much better place, reconnecting with old friends and starting to feel less isolated than he'd been in Seattle. Closet life isn't easy for either of them, but at least Jack is more comfortable with the glass closet of LA than the Pacific Northwest's Narnia situation.

Sammy, on the other hand, has his anxiety rocketing through the roof the first time one of Jack's friends drops off a housewarming gift addressed to both of them, and it never really comes back down. To his credit, he manages to hold off from asking Jack to take him out of his head until at least a month after the move, at which point he's vibrating out of his skin so badly that Jack decides to try something more extreme than usual.

Painplay is something they've dabbled in (including a memorable session with melted wax which did _not_ work for either of them), and on this particular day Sammy is acting like such a _brat_ that Jack can't ignore the overwhelming urge to spank him into submission. They have an agreement that Sammy doesn't bring Shotgun home with him (and Jack doesn't spend his life in the home office, as a trade), and the third time he snaps something snarky Jack's way when he's been asked a perfectly normal question, his boyfriend has had enough.

They've refined the way they play to the point where Jack coming up behind his asshole boyfriend and grabbing the back of his neck - that firm, decisive handle that says he's in charge and Sammy's going to deal with it - has Sammy catching himself against the kitchen counter, suddenly weak-kneed.

"You wanna do this?" Jack checks in, waiting for Sammy's nod before continuing. Kink and sex aren't intrinsically linked for them, but sometimes if Sammy's in a particularly strong phase of not wanting sex then any kind of intimate touch can be off the table. Today, the nod comes. "Good boy."

The way Sammy shudders just from that, from the mere suggestion of handing over the reins, tells Jack it's been too long already. He can fix that.

It's easy to get Sammy upstairs, get him naked and waiting on the bed, still sweetly shy about being up on all fours for Jack. Stripped to the waist - because he knows how much Sammy likes to feel denim against his bare skin - Jack takes his time in amping him up, ghosting his fingertips over freckled skin lightly enough to make him shiver, muscles jumping involuntarily.

He pauses at the welts he finds on Sammy's thighs, like he's been scratching himself with the intention of leaving marks. In fact, Jack's pretty sure the fading lines aren't from fingernails, though he can't tell what's left them. Sammy squirms away when he realises where Jack's looking, twisting so the marks are in shadow against the lamplight.

"Sammy…"

"Don't," it has a feverish edge, like he's afraid he's blown his chances of getting taken apart tonight. Jack smooths his hand over his boyfriend's spine and gets him to relax again, just a little. "I just…"

"You needed this?" Jack prods him gently, and Sammy ducks his head in what might be shyness, might be humiliation. It gives Jack pause - because humiliation is one massive red flag that they don't go _near_ \- but then Sammy nods. Jack kisses his shoulder as a reward for honesty. "Aw, baby. You can ask for what you want, you know that, right?"

"Can you… just…" Sammy huffs the loose hair off his face impatiently, caught somewhere between desperation and bitchiness. It's cuter than it probably should be.

"Alright princess, hold on," he's too busy fishing in the toy drawer in the bedside cabinet to see Sammy's chest drop towards the bed at the nickname, see the way he nuzzles his cheek into the blanket like he's already overwhelmed. "I've got something new for us to try tonight, but we're gonna work up to it. Okay?"

Sammy makes a noise - disgruntled, maybe, or maybe just impatient - and Jack reflexively smacks a whip-fast spank to his ass for the insolence. It makes Sammy yelp, but then he always did need to push and push until he was forcibly made to surrender. He seems extra tense tonight, so Jack figures getting him out of his head quickly is probably the best idea.

"Do you want to see it before I use it?" He checks, but Sammy hurriedly shakes his head like he just wants to get on with things as quickly as possible.

For a second, Jack doubts himself and wonders if Sammy just wants to get things _over with_ as fast as he can. But then he rakes his nails experimentally from Sammy's shoulder to the small of his back, leaving vicious red lines blooming in their wake, and Sammy _keens_ like he's been starving for this for years, not weeks. It's definitely time to take him apart and put him back together again, before the cracks spread any further.  

Sammy is beautiful when he takes pain, so much so that Jack hopes it'll become a more frequent aspect of their play. Scratches soon litter his upper back, tiny drops of blood beading on a few which Jack makes a mental note to take care of cleaning when they're done. Sammy responds so readily to every scrape, fingers curling in the bed covers as he tries to ground himself before giving in, giving himself over to the sensation, and going limp.

Jack likes to call it his spaghetti muscles phase… though not to his face.

"There you go," Jack coos gently, moving up the bed to give Sammy a kiss where his eyes are just starting to glaze over, where he's just teetering on the precipice of going down into that fuzzy place in his head. His mouth is slack against Jack's, and the fact he's going down so fast is probably just a sign of how much he's been needing it. "You good, sweetheart?"

Sammy makes a vague attempt at a nod and clumsily tries to kiss him again, which has Jack laughing into his mouth because god, he's too cute when he gets like this. Sammy wrinkles his nose and turns his head away to the other side of the bed at the amusement, which Jack takes to mean he should hurry up and beat his ass.

The paddle is new, an addition they'd both decided on (Sammy from between his fingers, hiding from the checkout screen) after experimenting with different kinds of impact feelings. Something thuddy and solid had been the overall favourite, and the paddle is a heavy, padded piece of kit which lets Jack keep a good amount of control over how much force he's using. He's tested it on himself and figures he's got a pretty decent feel for how much is too much, accounting for the fact Sammy has a much higher pain tolerance than him.

An experimental tap has Sammy jerking forward and instinctively reaching back to try and block the blow, so Jack retrieves a set of cuffs from the drawer and makes sure his boy is comfortable. Sammy always goes pliant once he's tied up, but today it takes a couple of swats from the paddle to have him shuddering out the last of his resistance and really letting go.

While their early experiments in kink had been for Sammy's benefit, ostensibly, Jack took to domination like a fish to water and has come to really, _really_ enjoy having Sammy at his mercy. The evening melts away around them, the rest of the world blurred and hazy except for the bright point of pain and power in their bedroom.

The blows hit Sammy hard - both physically and in terms of what they do to his mind - and Jack knows he's under when he starts practically purring as he leans into every paddle stroke. Jack might lose himself a little, seeing that, and maybe gets a little more vicious right when he should be easing off to let Sammy swim in the endorphins flooding through his body. But his boyfriend is blissed out and begging for more, and it's been so long since they've had this -

Until the annoying, intrusive buzz of the intercom muscles its way into Jack's head, snapping him out of the focused mindset he's been floating through and making him pause. It's probably just a lost delivery guy, so he gives Sammy another ringing smack and digs his fingers into the burning red of his ass to hear him yelp.

Unfortunately, the doorbell continues, knocking joining the frantic series of trills Jack simply can't ignore because they're ruining the mood, if nothing else. Sammy stirs, vaguely aware of the noise but deep enough that he's mostly registering the loss of sensation, and Jack gives him a gentler swat and yanks his head back for a kiss to get his attention.

"I've gotta see what this is," he taps Sammy's cheek to keep him focused, because he's totally out of it right now. "I'm gonna undo the cuffs, okay? Be a good boy and wait and I'll put them back on."

Sammy makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat, but doesn't resist when Jack frees his wrists and throws a blanket over him so he doesn't get cold during the pause. He absentmindedly listens to his boyfriend's footsteps fading down the hall beneath the shrill buzz of the doorbell, and happily drifts away in his head.

Jack will only be a minute, so Sammy lets himself float - as safe and loved as he ever feels. Nothing can touch him here.

  
  


He wakes up cold, totally disoriented and with no idea what the fuck is happening.

Pain registers first, the bad kind of hurting that throbs through his thighs and ass and feels more like he's been on the losing end of a particularly bad bar fight than had a loving encounter with his boyfriend. The lamp is still on, and Sammy blinks in the dim light like it's blinding as he raises his head and tries to figure out what's going on.

He's hazy, can't really see without his glasses on and would be totally stuck behind his eyes even if he was wearing them. He's never fallen asleep while under before, and everything feels slightly left of reality as he gingerly sits up, hissing at the bone-deep ache in his lower half. He has no idea what time it is.

Okay, Jack. He needs to find Jack. Sammy almost stumbles out of the bedroom naked, but he's got enough of his brain functioning to register voices, and more than one voice means someone who isn't Jack. With unsteady hands that feel like they're entirely disconnected from his brain and moving a fraction behind reality, he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt and winces at every tiny movement on his way down the stairs.

"...just don't know what's going to happen next."

The kitchen light is on. Sammy pauses in the doorway, blinking absently as he tries to get his brain up to speed. Lily is sitting at the kitchen island with a beer. Jack is leaning down in front of her. Lily, Sammy realises after a moment, is crying.

"We've got the house, we've got the fucking _mortgage_. We've got the dog! What the fuck am I supposed to do if we…" she trails off, sniffling, and takes a long gulp of her beer.

It's during the pause that Jack notices Sammy behind them, straightening up with blatant concern plastered across his face when he gets close enough for Sammy to read his expression. Oh - he's moved, he's walked across the kitchen and is now touching Sammy's elbow. It all seems to be happening through a thin layer of plastic.

"Hey," his tongue feels too big for his mouth, and he has to consciously force himself to look in Lily's direction rather than at the floor. She doesn't look back. "Are you okay?"

"Her and Chris are… having problems," Jack ushers him out of the kitchen, because Lily is already fiercely embarrassed about breaking down in front of _him_ , let alone Sammy - who she still isn't really talking to. He lowers his voice and brushes a gentle kiss to Sammy's temple, face twisting in deeper concern when Sammy leans into the touch like a lost puppy. "Go back to bed, okay? I'll be up soon, I'm sorry about this babe."

Sammy, because every fibre in his being is telling him to be good for Jack, goes… despite the fact he feels more like jelly the further away he gets.

He bundles himself up in bed, starting to shiver despite not being cold anymore, and closes his eyes hard to hold back the tears that are suddenly prickling behind his eyelids. Sammy tells himself firmly that he's being a baby, that Jack won't be long and he'll only be disappointed if Sammy does something stupid like cry about being left alone for a few minutes. He can't let Jack down by acting like an oversensitive idiot.

He's asleep by the time Jack makes it to bed, a couple of hours later. The lamp is still on.

  
  


"Sammy?" Jack kisses him on the temple, shaking his boyfriend's shoulder a little when he doesn't stir. "Babe, c'mon. Time to get up."

"Mm," Sammy just rolls over, burritoing himself tighter in the covers and trying to hide from the suggestion of being awake.

Jack frowns, because Sammy is usually the one trying to kick him out of bed in the morning, but figures they were up late and he can't blame Sammy for being tired after things were… intense. He flushes at the sudden images of scratch marks across Sammy's shoulders and his ass beaten red, and quickly pushes them away because he doesn't have time for that right now.

His boyfriend slept peacefully last night, so Jack figures the weird, distant way he was acting when he appeared downstairs was just because he came out of subspace a little disoriented. He'd been concerned, but if Sammy's up enough to be complaining about going to work, he's probably fine.

"Hey, come on. We're gonna be late," Jack pulls the covers off and Sammy grumbles louder, curling into himself as if he can maintain the illusion of sleep regardless. "Go shower, okay? I'll make coffee."

Sammy is in a foul mood when he emerges from the shower (with suspiciously red eyes, although he dodges every inquiry as to whether he's okay with the kind of clipped denials that make Jack wonder if he's pissed him off, somehow), but doesn't argue when Jack says he's driving. They don't have time to eat, so he hunkers down in the passenger seat and drinks coffee from a travel cup and doesn't object to any of the songs Jack plays as they crawl through traffic on their way into the station.

Something is wrong, Jack can tell, and he's got a horrible feeling he should know what it is.

Things don't improve once they get on air. Sammy snaps at callers and curses a blue streak at Jack when one of their stalker fans gets through (the one obsessed with finding 'evidence' that Sammy and Jack are a couple… which causes Sammy a _lot_ of stress as it is), and Jack would be furious if it wasn't for the slightly wild look in his eyes that says Sammy doesn't know which way is up right now.

They were supposed to have fixed this last night. He was meant to be feeling better.

"C'mon man, I thought you were supposed to be _in charge_ ," it's the way he says it, the stain of genuine hurt under the sarcasm, which makes everything click together in Jack's head.

Oh.

Shit.

Jack texts their afternoon guy, who owes him a huge favour, and then throws to commercial and drags Sammy out of the studio when he knows there's someone in the building to take over. The fact Sammy doesn't even resist being pulled out of the studio and shoved into the nearest bathroom that locks only confirms that something is really, really wrong.

"You're not okay," Jack lays it out up front, watching Sammy where he's just standing where he's been left in the middle of the grimy bathroom without resistance. Sammy shrugs, shoulders tight under his hoodie as he looks anywhere but at Jack.

"Glad you _noticed_ ," he mutters, voice weirdly broken, and Jack swallows a sigh. Yeah, he's not wrong about this. Although it hasn't happened to them before, he's pretty sure this is Sammy dropping. Hard.

"Listen, I know you're mad and feeling shitty-"

"How do _you_ know how I feel?" Right where Jack expected it, there's the explosion. Which is good - it means he's not totally off-base and can anticipate when Sammy gets in his personal space looking for a fight. "You didn't get your ass beat and then just fucking abandoned like trash, like you'd done something wrong and -"

His voice cracks, and Jack takes the opportunity to pull Sammy into his arms. He fights the contact, half-heartedly, but Jack holds him steady and just endures until Sammy is limp against him. He waits until they're both breathing normally again before he speaks, soft and level.

"Y'know how you kinda go out of your head when we play, like last night?"

"Yeah," Sammy stirs slightly, a little squirm which seems as much of discomfort as embarrassment. Jack is suddenly hit with the memory of his back scratched raw and cringes - how could he have been so stupid? "Sub space?"

"Yeah, that's right," Jack takes a moment to stroke Sammy's hair, because even that little praise seems to have got to him. They've really fucked this up. "But because we haven't really used pain before, I think you've been getting a mild version of it, compared to now."

"What does that have to do with me feeling like shit?" Sammy stiffens like he's done something wrong, and Jack hurries to keep talking before he can close off and pull away. He's done more with less before.

"You went pretty deep last night, right?"

"I…" Sammy turns his face into Jack's shoulder, shame rolling off him in waves, and that's part of the problem. "I don't know."

"Listen, you go under because your brain releases chemicals - endorphins and stuff, right?

Sammy makes an exasperated noise when Jack starts on the lecture he's heard a hundred times, and Jack can't help the tiny smile of relief that crosses his face. His guy is still there, he's just hurting badly right now.

"And when you experience pain in a scene, that's a lot more intense and you get a bigger dose of chemicals, which is why you go deeper," Jack realises he's been unconsciously rocking Sammy back and forth, just a little, and distantly hopes it helps. "Basically, your brain has used up all the good stuff and it can't make more that fast, which is why you're feeling shitty."

"Is it gonna be like this every time now?" Sammy asks tentatively, voice small and breaking, and Jack shushes him softly in an attempt at reassurance.

"No, baby. Last night you got jerked out of a scene and your brain didn't get a chance to come down properly," he tries to remember what the website said, break it down into pieces Sammy will accept without blaming himself - even when he's struggling. "So you're feeling depressed and tired and hollow, but it won't last forever. This is on me, I should've been prepared. It's not your fault."

"You didn't know Lily was gonna-"

"Sammy, I need this to be my fault," Jack cuts him off, feeling a little better for admitting to the guilt running through his veins like ice water. He _needs_ to take care of Sammy as much as Sammy needs to be taken care of, and it's only if this is his fuck up that he can be sure he's fixing it properly. "I should've had a plan in place, and I didn't. I fucked up, I'm sorry."

"I feel like I ran a marathon and kept going," Sammy admits, almost in a whisper, and Jack is just relieved he's talking at all. "My legs don't feel steady and my hands are shaky, all I wanna do is sleep, but-"

Jack straightens up and pushes Sammy back just enough that they can make eye contact, so he can be sure he's being heard. Sammy looks wrecked, eyes wide and anxious and just far, far away - but he's listening.

"Here's what we do, okay? We deal with this like you're sick, because you kinda are," Jack knew this stuff already, he'd just failed to connect Sammy acting like a pissy little shit with dropping. Now he's figured it out, he's back in the driver's seat where he belongs. "Gatorade, caffeine, food. Uh, chocolate is good, keeping warm is good. We give your body what it needs and let your brain come back online."

"Can we…" Sammy's voice is wobbly and oh, shit, his bottom lip is going. This is worse than Jack thought. The last time he saw Sammy cry in public was when he fell off a wall and broke his wrist back in college. "I-I can't control myself, man. This keeps happening."

He gestures to where he's tearing up, an irritated jerk of his hand like he can't _believe_ his body is betraying him like this. Jack pulls him back in, gently pressing Sammy's head into his shoulder so he has an excuse to hide.

"That's not your fault. It's your brain doing chemical stuff, I promise," he murmurs quietly, another wave of relief crashing over him when he feels Sammy finally start to hug back. "Give me back the reins for a while, okay? You don't have to control yourself, I got you."

"But what if…" he doesn't say it, but Jack feels the sting of doubt anyway. They both need to fix this fast, before it spirals any further.

"Whatever happens, Sammy. I'm not gonna abandon you," firmly, trying to project the illusion that he knows exactly what he's doing, Jack swears that much to him. "I promise."

Getting home feels like it takes forever, but it's smooth. Nobody waylays them on their way out of the studio, and Sammy spends the drive home with Jack's hand periodically wrapped tightly around his wrist so he doesn't drift too far back into his head. Even Jack feels better once he's back in charge, finally connecting his own sense of unease throughout the day to the same thing Sammy's been going through.

Is top drop a thing? He makes a mental note to do some more research.

The first thing Jack does, after making sure they've both eaten something, is start the shower. He intends to make sure Sammy's scratches aren't too bad, but it's the bruises that stop him dead in his tracks when he makes his boyfriend turn around under the water.

"Oh baby, I didn't realise I…" Jack bites his lip when he gets a look at Sammy, the blooming purple around the tops of his thighs that stands out starkly against his pale skin. He'd thought he was holding back… what if he'd really let loose? He feels a little sick. "How were you even sitting down? That was too far, fuck. I didn't-"

"I liked it," the blush spreads all the way down Sammy's chest, when he quickly turns back around, and Jack is surprised he can even explain himself with that level of awkward. He's not usually good at using his words for anything about what he _likes_ or _needs_ anyway, so he must be coming back online. "It was really good, just… just not jerking out of it like that. I… I need you around, after. I need you."

The hard edges from earlier have melted away now, the razor thin line between Shotgun and Sammy mellowed into something not quite so sharp or dangerous. Jack can taste his own relief as he pulls Sammy in for a gentle kiss under the water, beyond grateful that they didn't fuck up beyond repair. They're going to need to talk about what happened, about what started to go wrong before they were even interrupted, but right now they just need to get this - them - back on an even keel.

Sammy needs this part of them, needs to shut his head off and go somewhere else, and Jack doesn't know what he'd do without being the person to give it to him. Maybe it's weird to need that, or maybe it's love. All Jack knows is, they're going to figure out how to do it right.

They stay leaning on each other, recharging, until the water runs cold.


End file.
